Pointless

Not wanted, dead or alive.

What do I do, now that I’ve lost the point?

So many heroes in the world, 

So many villains,

So many many many extras, 

background noise in the Big Picture 

that so few can afford to see.

And me. 

Sir Not Appearing In This Picture.  

The Nun of the Above.  

The Maiden China, breakable, do not fold,

swindle or mutilate.

Was there ever a point?  

If so, what was it pointing to?

And why?

Points are sharp.  

Ugly things that rip and tear.

Off the edge of the map, 

deep in Here There Be Dragons land.

How do we know that the Devil That We Know

is better?  

Who says? 

Maybe we should all get The Point.

Just dive off the Cliffs, 

and the Clints, 

and the cliches, 

and impale ourselves on 

someone else’s Points of Reference.

What is The Point of Order, anyway?  Who decides?

Never Mind.  

It’s a bad idea.  

It leads to thinking.

I think, therefore I thwim.

Keep your head above water.

Head and shoulders above the rest. 

Never rest.

It’s another bad idea.

Sleep is for the week.

And we are the weakened.

The ragged jagged remnants of 

the once discrete Points of View.

All poured and stirred in the Melting Pot.

Melted, melded, gelded, shorn.

Doesn’t it feel better, 

now that all that heavy thinking is gone?

Just rock away in the Cradle of Humanity, 

and babies, you can sleep while I drive.